


No Stairway To Heaven

by DoctorBilly



Series: Sea Glass and Tattoos [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to the Sea Glass and Tattoos series that grew a bit…</p><p>Tags: divorce; mention of spousal abuse; guitars;</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Hello, Mr D. SeaGlass is back."

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when Billy comes back.
> 
> Most of the chapters in this story are very short. Posts will be frequent.

Detective Inspector Theodore Dimmock strolls through Camden. It is warm, summer, and he has a day off. 

He has got into the habit of shopping in the market if his free day falls on a Saturday, then sitting with a coffee or a beer, watching the Children's Crusade, the crowds of young people who throng the high street and the Stable Market. He calls it people-watching. It is something he has learned from Sherlock Holmes. 

He knows what people wear, which tribes are allied with which. He recognises the goths, the cyber-punks, the rude boys. He occasionally catches the eye of a homeless person. He buys them tea and sandwiches, tips them with some cash. Sometimes, he learns something useful. Today is such a day.

"Hello, Mr D. SeaGlass is back."

The SeaGlass hasn't been seen in Camden Lock for a long time. _Must be about two years now,_ he thinks. 

"When?"

"Couple of days. He's on board."

"Thanks."

Dimmock hands the young woman his untouched coffee, scrabbles in his pocket for cash. Finds a ten pound note. She takes it with a nod and a smile. 

He strolls along the canal bank. The SeaGlass is indeed back in its old mooring. He steps carefully down the gangplank and knocks on the door.


	2. "I won't hold my breath"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimmock calls on Billy

"Hello, Theo."

"You look rough, Bill. Something happen?"

Billy Wiggins has cuts and bruises on his face. A split lip and a black eye. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing more bruises and scrapes. 

"It's stupid. You'll laugh…"

"Try me."

Billy waves Dimmock inside the houseboat. 

"I've left Liam. Before you ask."

"Okay. Want to tell me why?"

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"Frankie?"

"He's starting at university soon. Alberta. He'll be living on-campus."

"You all right with him staying in Canada?"

"He's an adult now. He can make his own decisions."

Billy has been making coffee. He hands Dimmock a mug. 

"Sorry it's just instant…"

"It's fine, Bill. Tell me about the bruises."

"From moving the boat. It's really difficult to move a houseboat by yourself. Tying up, operating windlasses… there's a whole flight of locks before you get to the moorings at Camden. I fell in the canal a couple of times…"

Dimmock knows he's lying about at least some of the marks. There are old bruises and scrapes on his knuckles. The type that come with fist-fighting. The purple discolouration around his eye overlays older, green and yellow bruises. He doesn't push it. Billy will tell him if he wants him to know. 

"Should have given me a call. I'd have helped."

"I wasn't sure what sort of welcome I'd get. You're Greg's friend…"

"I'm your friend as well, Bill. We had some good times."

"Yeah. I've missed you all."

"So why are you back in Camden?"

"I've got a job at UCL. Camden's really handy. I might get a bike…"

"Can you ride a bike?"

"Can't be that hard. I can ride a horse…"

Dimmock laughs

"So can Greg, apparently. I'm not sure the skill set is the same. Do you want me to tell him you're back?"

"Do you think he'll want to know?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Okay. I don't expect he'll want to see me. I won't hold my breath, anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UCL stands for University College, London.


	3. "Why did you come back?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade talks to Billy.

It is a month before Lestrade can bring himself to visit Billy. He makes all sorts of excuses to himself. Pressure of work; conferences; new officers to break in; training sessions he is delivering…

In the end it is Dimmock who pushes him into it. 

"Greg, you should go and see Billy."

"I don't know, T'éo."

"You're edgy. You're doing the French thing…"

Dimmock turns to look at Lestrade. The harsh fluorescent lights of the cafeteria throw the lines and shadows on his face into sharp relief. He sips his coffee, grimaces. 

"He hasn't tried to get in touch…"

"He won't. He doesn't know how you'll react. Just go and talk to him, Greg. You're going to come face to face with him at some point. Best to just get it over with."

"You see a lot of him. Has he asked about me?"

"No. He thinks you hate him."

"I don't…"

"He's got no way of knowing that. We don't talk about you."

"Have you slept with him, T'éo?"

"No. Not that that's really any of your business…"

"T'éo…"

"He doesn't want to. I don't think he's seeing anyone. He's lonely though. Something bad happened between him and Liam. He won't talk to me about it. He'd only been back a few days when I first saw him. He was bruised up, Greg. Old bruises. Marks on his knuckles…"

"Fighting?"

"I think so."

"T'éo, if I go to see him, I might not be able to leave him again. He was everything to me…"

Dimmock smiles sadly

"You're frightened he might not want you."

*****

Lestrade tails Billy for a few days, looking for neutral ground. Finally, he bites the bullet and sits down on a bench in the UCL cloisters, where Billy is absorbed in a book. 

"Are you going to say something then, or just sit there looking at your shoes?"

"Didn't want to disturb you."

Billy laughs, bitterly

"No chance of that…"

"You look like shit, Bill."

"Normal, then."

Billy looks ill. He is too pale, paper white rather than porcelain. He has dark hollows under his eyes. He has lost weight, his clothes are too loose on his already-skinny body. Lestrade peers at him, looking for signs of anything other than exhaustion. 

"When did you last eat a proper meal?"

"Went for pie and mash with Theo the other day. I had soup last night…"

"Not good enough. You need to look after yourself, Billy."

"I'm all right. Just under a bit of pressure with the work…"

"Come and have lunch with me. Get a hot meal inside you."

"You're not my mum, Greg."

"No, but I am your friend. I hope."

Billy puts his book away and stands up. Sighs. He knows Lestrade will just sit there and keep on asking until he wears him down.

"Okay. Where are you taking me?"

"British Museum. Don't laugh. The restaurant's very good, and it's close enough that you won't keel over before we get there."

*****

The food _is_ very good. They eat sirloin steak with paprika butter, and follow it with rhubarb panacotta. Billy starts to get some colour back in his cheeks.

"So. Why'd you come back? Not just for the work?" 

"No. I'm trying to get a divorce." 

"Trying?" 

"Yeah. I want it quick. I've got grounds. But he's contesting it. I'd have to be separated for a year to get one without citing grounds, but I don't want to wait that long." 

"What grounds, Billy? Cruelty? Adultery?" 

"Both. But I'm not citing adultery. That would have complications…" 

"Theo said you looked as if you'd been fighting when you first came back…" 

"Yeah. I hit him back. He called the police and had me arrested…" 

"He had _you_ arrested?" 

"Yeah. Mycroft sprung me and got me on a plane. You know he's got flags on us all? If we come up on computer record systems he gets informed…" 

"I didn't know that. But I'm not really surprised. Why's he contesting the divorce? He can't think you'll go back to him, if he was knocking you about." 

"He thinks I've got money. I haven't. I set up a trust fund for Frankie, for his college fees and stuff. Wanted to make sure he'd be all right." 

"You made a lot from selling the loft. And you must still get royalties…" 

"Yeah. But Liam handled the project income. I didn't get anything from that. And I didn't have tenure at the university. They work differently over there. I had to support myself with my own money, sort of pay my own wages, if I couldn't get teaching hours. About half of the loft money went into the trust fund. I kept a bit of it for living on. The rent from the boat helped. The rest of it's invested. Tied up for a few years yet. Mycroft's people are making sure Liam can't get his hands on it. I can't either. I need to work for a living…" 

Lestrade pushes his plate away, catches the waitress's eye and asks for coffee. He watches Billy finishing his panacotta, chasing the rhubarb purée around the plate with his spoon, giving up and capturing the last smear with a fingertip. He smiles. 

"So are you back for good?" 

"I don't know. Maybe." 

"How long had he been hitting you?" 

"About eighteen months or so. Not often, to start with, and he was always really apologetic, really kind afterwards. At first, anyway. It was always about money. He's not very good with it. Wanted a joint account, I said no…" 

"Why did you wait so long to come back? Why didn't you just leave when he first hurt you?" 

"Contractual obligations. The project. Frankie's education. It wouldn't have been fair to him to disrupt it again. I got used to it. But it started getting more frequent. And more violent. He'd got a new project in the pipeline, and I told him I wouldn't collaborate with him on it. He wanted my name on it. I said no. That was the first time he marked my face. I would have left then, but it's hard…" 

"Yeah. Battered spouses often seem to find it hard to leave…" 

"I didn't have friends, Greg. Not friends of my own. I had nowhere to go. He'd have found out if I'd tried to book a plane ticket, or look for accommodation. He used to check my browser history. If I cleared it he'd get suspicious. And we worked together as well as living together. I couldn't hide anything…" 

The coffee arrives, and Billy goes quiet as he adds too much sugar. 

"I'd let the boat out. I wouldn't have had anywhere to go if I came back. I think Mycroft's people put pressure on the tenants to get them to move out before the end of the tenancy. Otherwise I'd have got off the plane he put me on with nowhere to go." 

"You know someone here would have taken you in. I would have taken you in…" 

Billy concentrates hard on his coffee. He hasn't let Lestrade look him in the eyes once, not in the cloisters at UCL, not on the walk to the museum, not over the meal. 

"I'm so sorry, Greg. I made you homeless when I sold the loft…" 

"That's long past, Billy. I'm doing all right. I'm glad you're back, and safe." 

"I didn't think anyone here would want to know me." 

"But you'd been in touch with Mycroft?" 

"Indirectly. His 'people'. I thought he just wanted to make sure Frankie was all right. Everyone loves you, Greg. And I treated you so badly…" 

"I got over it, Billy. Got myself sorted out. Made a life again." 

"Theo says you've got a nice flat. I'm glad. You deserve nice things." 

"Yeah. You'll have to come and see it some time. Do you have to go back to work? I can give you a lift back to the boat…" 


	4. "Do you want me to stay?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade takes Billy back to the SeaGlass

Lestrade looks around. The houseboat looks…distressed. There are wine stains and cigarette burns on the table and the floor. There is a rip in one arm of the sofa. One ceiling hook has been pulled out and the spare-bed hammock sags from the other hook onto the floor. The little range cooker is filthy. 

"Looks like someone's been throwing parties…"

"Yeah. Tenants. I don't know whether I should claim against them or not. Don't think I can be bothered, really. Clearing all this up will keep me busy for a while."

He laughs, not happily. 

"Should have chucked them out and let you have it when you asked."

Lestrade doesn't answer. Billy's voice wobbles a bit when he next speaks. 

"There's coffee, but it's only instant. There might be a beer in the fridge. I'm going out the back for a cigarette."

Lestrade waits a moment, then follows. As he walks through the bedroom to the stern deck he notices the Moroccan lantern has some cracked panes of glass and the mosquito net over the bed is torn.

Billy is sitting cross-legged on the deck. Lestrade eases himself down to sit next to him. 

"Did you get rid of the sheepskin?"

"No. Someone nicked it. I would have had to get it cleaned before I could sleep under it anyway. Going to get another one."

"Didn't notice your guitar anywhere, Bill…"

Billy finally cries, for the first time since he has been back in London. 

"He threw it out."

"Who, Liam?"

"He hated me noodling on it. Called it guitar wanking. He threw it into the trash lorry. I watched it get compacted…"

"Bastard."

Lestrade wraps his arms around Billy, lets him cry himself out against his chest. 

"I'm sorry. I'm getting your shirt all snotty."

Lestrade smiles.

"It'll wash."

"That was the day I started fighting back. Stupid. Getting this upset over a guitar."

"You'd had it a long time. It was symbolic…"

"I bought it when I was sixteen. I kept it all the way through University, all the time I was squatting, on drugs, all the bad times we had…. All the good times as well. It was part of me, the music."

"I know, mate. You need to have a guitar. We'll have to get you another one. I'll take you to Denmark Street. I've missed jamming with you."

"We were good, weren't we?"

"Yeah. Billy, you mentioned adultery. Complications…"

"Frankie."

"Ah."

"He's nineteen. Old enough to make his own decisions. I walked in on them…"

"Is Liam likely to be after the trust fund?"

"It's tied up. Pays Frankie's college fees, and he gets an allowance. He can't touch the capital till he's twenty one. It's up to him what he does with it then. Mycroft's got a flag on Frankie as well. He'll be all right, I think. He's not living with Liam. If he goes after him, Mycroft will step in."

"Good."

Lestrade strokes Billy's hair, hugs him tight. 

"Billy, do you want me to stay the night?"

"I don't know. Why would you want to?"

"I'm not asking you to get back together with me. But I think I'd like to stay tonight. I don't think you should be on your own tonight, Billy. You might need to cry some more…"

"Wouldn't Theo mind? Haven't you and him got a bit of a thing?"

Lestrade smiles. 

"We're not together. We were for a while, but he's got a new bloke that looks as if he might be getting serious. We go dancing sometimes, go jamming. There's a pub that has open jam nights. Sherlock comes over occasionally. I'm on my own mostly, though. It's not too much of a hardship at my age…"

Billy smiles.

"You're not old."

"Fifty two, Billy. Fifty three in October..."

"Almost no different from fifty. I'm twenty nine. I'll jump a decade next birthday. Big deal being nearly thirty."

"Its today, isn't it? Your twenty-ninth. I'm so sorry, Bill. I forgot." 

"No reason for you to remember."

"We'll have to throw you a party for the big one next year…"

"No. No more birthday parties."

They both go quiet, remembering the last birthday party Lestrade had thrown for Billy. Lestrade breaks the silence. 

"I'll take you dancing instead."

Billy huffs out a laugh

"Sherlock offered to take me dancing once. Before I got kidnapped. Kind of implied there might be sex at the end of it. But I turned him down."

"Don't turn him down if he offers again. Sherlock's special. He knows when someone needs him."

"I don't think me and Sherlock would work, Greg. He was a mate. I thought I was a bit of a protégé of his, once. Before he jumped. We'd be dangerous together. Too many addictions…"

"Theo says you're on your own, Billy…"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Does Sherlock still break into your flat?"

"Yeah. He'll never change. He lives on his own as well, now. Sees a lot of John though. They still turn up to cases together."

Lestrade laughs.

"He doesn't break into Theo's place. He sits on the terrace wall like a gargoyle, waiting for Theo to notice him and let him in."

"Has he ever not noticed him?"

They both giggle at the thought of gargoyle Sherlock sitting on the wall all night.

"Dunno. He wouldn't lose face by telling anyone."

"Could I come and visit you sometimes?"

"Yeah. I'll cook for you. Keep you company. We all need a bit of human contact every now and then."

"Sometimes I just want a cuddle."

"Me too. Do you want me to stay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of what was going to be the coda. It grew a bit more, though. 
> 
> Did Greg stay? Watch this space…


	5. "You're still here"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is still there in the morning

Billy wakes to warm brightness. 

_"Morning"_ he thinks. _"I've slept through till morning."_

It is the first time he has had a full night's sleep for a long time. He snuggles into unfamiliar yet familiar heat. Lestrade. 

Lestrade, who is wrapped around him, stroking his hair. Lestrade, who is smiling at him, warmth in his soft brown eyes. Lestrade, who he loves but hasn't seen for two years, since he got on a plane and left him behind. Lestrade, who improbably, still cares for him. Lestrade, who last night had held him in his arms and let him cry and cry and get snot all over his shirt. 

"Hello."

"You're still here."

"Yeah. Looks like it. Hungry?"

"Starving. But I haven't got anything to eat. Haven't felt like shopping…"

"We'll have to go out then. Find a cafe."

Billy smiles. Whispers. 

"Why are you still here?"

"I need to be. I just…need to be."

Lestrade hugs Billy tight, brushes his mouth against his ear. 

"I never expected to see you again. Two years…"

"I should never have gone."

"I should have fought harder to make you stay."

Billy smiles again. Stretches. Untangles himself from Lestrade's arms and legs. 

"I'll get showered. There's coffee, but it's only instant."

"Better than nothing. I'll make it while you shower. Tell you what, instead of finding a cafe, we can go to my place for breakfast. You can cast your designer's eye over the flat and I can change my clothes. I'm not spending a whole day in Soho wearing yesterday's gear."

"A day in Soho?"

"Yeah. Need to get you a guitar."


	6. Too soon…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is angsty. Billy isn't ready.

Billy showers, scrubbing himself with Pears brown soap, nose wrinkling at the harsh smell. He remembers the smell of the Ajaccio Violets toiletries he used to use when he last lived on the houseboat. He hasn't been able to afford those for a long time. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. Too thin; he can see rib bones, hip bones, spine bones. His tattoos look too big for the body they are on. The angel wing stretching from right shoulder to right ankle is too dark against his pale skin. The tattoo on his left shoulder is too bright, a gaping wound that looks as if it could be real.

He has scars from a real wound on his ribs. A memento of the day he got shot in Frankie Knox's place. The exit wound has spoiled the lines of his angel wing. He is vain enough about his tattoos to consider getting it re-inked. _"Maybe Greg will give me the number of the woman who did his",_ he thinks. 

There are smaller scars, here and there on his body. Shackle marks, from when he had been kidnapped. Old needle tracks. Bruises. Lots of bruises. Some small burn marks marring the soft skin of his inner arms, high up. He has another small tattoo on his left wrist; the only one of his permanent marks that is visible when he is dressed. A simple line of text. "Carpe Diem". _Seize the day_ , he thinks. He is nearly thirty. Maybe it's time to do that. Maybe not.

He scrubs his hands through his hair. It is shorter than it has been for years; he no longer has manga hair. He dresses. Tight jeans, a long-sleeved grey t-shirt, dull black Doc Marten boots, plain, utilitarian. No jewellery. His silver and glass rings are long gone, broken, lost. 

A noise startles him. He freezes for a moment, then remembers. Lestrade. He turns, slowly. Lestrade is watching him. He sees him swallow, flush, look away. 

"Greg?"

"I'm sorry Billy. This isn't easy…"

"I know. I'm not expecting anything, Greg. No big romantic reunions. But I'm not stupid. You said you don't want a relationship, but…"

"I don't know what I want, Billy. Not from one minute to the next. I want to hold you tight and never let you go. I want to scream at you for being so stupid, for letting him hurt you. I want to kill him for hurting you. I want to hate you for leaving me."

He grips Billy's shoulders, hard, fingers digging in. Shakes him a little, pulls him in close, groans, voice rumbling up from deep, deep in his chest.

"I want you. God, I want you…"

"It's too soon, Greg."

"I know." 

Lestrade sighs, lets go. Turns away. 

"Coffee's made. Don't let it get cold."


	7. "You got a cowboy hat?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is a bit different

Lestrade shrugs his coat on, looks around for his scarf. Billy is holding it. 

"Do you cover them up?"

He reaches out and gently runs his fingers over the scars on Lestrade's throat. 

"No. They're not easy to hide. The scarf's just because it's a bit chilly out. Do they bother you?"

"No. Do they bother other people?"

"Sherlock and Dimmock don't seem to notice them any more. Sally Donovan won't look at them. But she was there when it happened…"

"I'm glad I didn't see the wounds. That's selfish, I know, but I've seen you hurt too often. Theo told me they were really bad. You nearly died…"

"Take more than a couple of dogs to see me off. Get your coat on, I need a bacon sandwich."

Billy pulls on his jacket, hears Lestrade snort, trying to suppress laughter.

"The fuck is _that?_ "

Billy is wearing a hip length suede jacket, black, blazer style. Deeply fringed along the sleeves and across the chest and back.

"I've been in Calgary for two years. Everyone wears these."

"You got a cowboy hat as well?"

"Not with me. Decided not to wear the boots. Overkill…" 

He giggles. 

"It's comfortable. I like it."

"It's just so different…"

"Yeah, well, I'm different as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the cowboy jacket is a big old cliché…


	8. "You're calling him Greg"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade makes good bacon sandwiches. Billy and Sherlock have a chat.

It takes less than a quarter of an hour to drive from Camden Lock to Lestrade's flat in St John's Wood. Billy laughs as they get out of the car outside an imposing three-storey building. The entrance to the building is grey stone, contrasting with the yellow London stocks that the repurposed police station is built from. 

"You bought a flat in the old cop shop?"

Lestrade grins.

"Yeah. How could I resist it?"

They walk up the stairs to the top floor. Lestrade's flat is at the end of the corridor, behind a blue front door. He opens it and Billy laughs again. 

"Oh my god, you bought the lantern…"

"Yeah. Thought you'd appreciate that."

Lestrade had fought off half a dozen bidders at auction to buy the old blue lamp that had once hung outside the building. He had paid a lot for it, but it was worth it for the moments of joy it gives him every day. He has hung it in his square entrance hall, and it makes him smile every time he switches it on.

"It's brilliant."

Lestrade leads the way to the living room, freezes in the doorway. Grimaces. Whispers, almost subvocal.

"No, no. Not today, please…"

Sherlock Holmes is reclining on the sofa, eyes closed, hands steepled, prayerlike, under his chin. He bounces to his feet as he hears Lestrade enter the room.

"Lestrade! Here you are…"

"How did you get in? The front door hasn't been tampered with…"

"Fire escape. Obviously."

The old police station still has its original network of fire escapes, cast iron balconies and ladders, stretching across the back of the building. Lestrade has a balcony that spans the width of his flat. Full height windows from the kitchen and living room open onto it. He uses it as a terrace. 

"Obviously." 

Lestrade sighs. 

"What are you doing here? Have you been here all night?"

"Social call? And no. An hour or so. I solved a case. Not one of yours. Thought there might be breakfast?"

Sherlock gets hungry when he has solved a case.

"Where have you been, Lestrade? I sent you several texts. Theo did not know where you were…"

"I stayed over on Bill's boat last night. Switched my phone off. Bacon sandwich be all right?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow as Billy follows Lestrade into the room.

"Hello, Shezz."

"Hello Billy. I saw the SeaGlass was back. The network have been surprisingly unforthcoming about your presence, though."

"Yeah, I asked them to keep it quiet. You knew anyway…"

"Yes. Of course. It was interesting that you allowed them to tell Theo…"

"I thought he was less likely to be upset than Greg."

Sherlock narrows his eyes, looks at Billy carefully. 

"Hmm. You have been back in London for a month. Lestrade spoke to you for the first time yesterday, and you slept with him last night…"

"I'm in the room with you, Sherlock. Stop with the deductions."

Lestrade is annoyed. He had hoped for a pleasant day with Billy. A chance for them to start to get to know each other again. Sherlock is ruining it. 

"It's all right, Greg. Take no notice. He's just showing off."

"I'm hungry, Lestrade. A bacon sandwich would be very welcome…"

"Yeah. All right. But no more deductions."

"I can't just switch it off, you know." 

He narrows his eyes. 

"Billy. You're calling him 'Greg'."

"That's his name, Shezz."

"Still in the room…"

"You must have noticed, Lestrade. Billy always called you 'Mister Lestrade' when he was under stress. People used to remark on it. He is clearly under stress right now, and yet he is calling you 'Greg'. I find that interesting."

"Leave it, Sherlock. Please. Let's just all have breakfast…"

Lestrade makes good bacon sandwiches. Crisp bacon, warm bread. Brown sauce for Sherlock, to add sweetness. He makes coffee for himself and Billy, tea for Sherlock. They eat sitting around the kitchen table. Billy admires the kitchen, expresses approval of the decor and layout. He isn't much of a cook, but has spent enough time around Lestrade to know what a good cook needs in a kitchen. This one outshines all three of the kitchens they have previously shared. 

Lestrade clears the plates and mugs, goes off to shower and change, leaving Billy and Sherlock to talk. 

"So, Billy. A divorce?"

"Theo told you."

"He didn't. It was Mycroft. He was concerned that Lestrade was avoiding you."

"Can't blame him really. I was cruel to him. I'm surprised he wants to see me at all, really."

"He still loves you."

"Maybe. How much did Mycroft tell you?"

"Enough for me to understand your stress levels. Probably not everything. Can you explain the name thing?"

"Why I call him Greg? I don't know. I never used to notice it, really. Other people did. I suppose he did. He never said anything. He used to be a superhero to me, you know. Now he's just a man. A lovely man, but…I've grown up a bit. Maybe that's it."

"It always bothered him. It will make it harder for him to read you, now. He'll have to work at it…"

"Same as the rest of us then. Even you have to work at it with some people, Shezz."

"Hmph"

"The divorce is messy. Liam's contesting it. Mycroft's helping with the legal stuff, but yeah, I'm stressed. I just want it over with. Letting Greg stay over last night might have been a mistake. I don't know."

"You wanted him to stay. He wanted to stay…"

Sherlock shrugs.

"I don't see a problem. Unless you let sentiment get in the way and complicate things."

Billy smiles. 

"Hard for us mere mortals not to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy calls Sherlock Shezz. Up till now, I'd had him calling him 'Lock, which suddenly started sounding all wrong in my head (probably since rewatching S3). I have been through the whole series , editing the names.


	9. "I didn't think it was a date"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three men on a day out

"Right then. Let's move."

Lestrade is dressed in jeans and an old Clash t-shirt, his habitual red converse on his feet. He shrugs his leather biker jacket on, gestures Billy and Sherlock towards the front door. 

"Where are we going, Lestrade?"

"Billy and I are going to Soho. I don't know where you're going…"

"I will come with you. There is someone I need to see in Charing Cross Road. I might as well do that today."

"Okay, but we might not be coming straight back…"

"I can get a cab back if I need to."

"It'll be fine, Greg. Let him tag along. He'll leave when he gets fed up."

"We're going by tube, Sherlock…"

"I've travelled on the underground before, Lestrade. Don't fuss."

The tube journey is as uneventful as a journey involving two changes of train, a recovering claustrophobic and a Sherlock Holmes can be. The trains are packed, they have to stand, crushed together, and Sherlock spends the time whispering deductions about their fellow-travellers into a giggling Billy's ear. 

Lestrade gets fed up very quickly and puts his earbuds in, listens to some music. He is annoyed at having his day with Billy hijacked by Sherlock, annoyed with Sherlock for standing too close to Billy, annoyed with Billy for not minding. Billy is standing too far away from him, deliberately leaving space between himself and Lestrade. 

By the time they emerge into daylight at Tottenham Court Road, Lestrade has resigned himself to losing Billy to Sherlock for the day. _Shouldn't be surprised,_ he thinks. _The two of them have history._ Billy and Sherlock were brothers in arms, veterans of London's drug wars, long before Lestrade was instrumental in getting them both clean. 

He stomps up the steps into the street, staggers when Billy grabs him and wraps an arm around his waist. 

"You all right, Greg?"

"What? Yeah. You and Sherlock getting a bit friendly?"

"Don't be daft."

"You were cosying up to each other on the tube."

"Trying to give you a bit of space to breathe. I know you need air around you when you're in tight spaces. Surprised you wanted to go on the tube in any case…"

"I'm not as bad as I used to be. I've had therapy. I had to use the lifts at work after my ankle got damaged."

He laughs, nervously. 

"Got a bit jealous. Wanted you to myself today."

Billy frowns.

"I didn't think it was a date, Greg…"

"It's not. Not really. I don't know, I just thought…" 

He shakes his shoulders, scrubs a hand through his hair. 

"Let's go and look at guitars."

Sherlock has been watching them. Carefully. 

"Charing Cross Road, first. Macari's."

"Why? Regent Sounds would be better. Denmark Street."

Billy knows his Fender dealers. Has a good idea of what he wants. 

"Macari's. Please?"

"All right. Let's go then."

Lestrade takes charge, herding the two younger men towards Charing Cross Road.


	10. "Is that a violin?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock buys a new violin

"Holmes. You have a Ted Brewer Hades for me."

The sales assistant nods. 

"Do you want to try it out?"

Sherlock smiles.

"Yes. Where…?"

The assistant waves him over to the far corner of the shop. Laughs.

"There's an amp there. Plug in and go. I'll stop you if you're rubbish."

Lestrade and Billy are intrigued. "Ted Brewer" and "Hades" mean nothing to them. The assistant has handed over what is obviously an instrument case. Rectangular. Too narrow to be a guitar. Sherlock carefully opens it, taking out a monster. Transparent acrylic, a neck with a machine head and strings, attached to not very much. A slim swirl of acrylic, horn-like, surrounding mostly empty space. 

"Is that a violin?"

"Obviously."

Sherlock takes out the bow, applies rosin, plugs a lead into the electric violin and checks the tuning, turning one or two of the tuning screws. He thinks for a moment, smiles, then strikes a pose and begins to play Khachaturian's Sabre Dance.

Lestrade and Billy both hold their breath. They both know Sherlock is an accomplished violinist, have both heard him play his Stradivarius. But they have never seen anything like this. 

Sherlock finishes playing, and bows.

"Not bad." 

The sales assistant nods, respect from one musician to another. 

"Will you take it with you?"

"Yes. And a long lead. And an amplifier."

Sherlock turns to Billy. Smiles. 

"Your turn, now. You'll take longer, I think."

 

Sherlock played: Vanessa Mae: Sabre Dance: Khachaturian: <http://youtu.be/rxtKeYBQdr0>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hades violin doesn't usually come in transparent, but Ted Brewer will make you one if you pay them loads of money.


	11. "Don't Fret"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Lestrade have a chat.

Billy is in a glass booth, in his element. He has guitars, amps, pedals. He is noodling away to his hearts content. 

Lestrade and Sherlock are outside, waiting. Lestrade is sitting on Sherlock's amp. He's been conned into carrying it, might as well get some use out of it.

"He won't come back to me, Sherlock."

"Not the way you were before. He's been damaged. He'll find it hard to trust everything to one person now."

"What can I do?"

"I'm not the best person to advise you, Greg. I haven't been the greatest success, romantically…"

Lestrade grimaces, scrubs his hands through his hair.

"He's lonely. He needs friends, but I…"

"He is friendly with Theo…"

"Yeah. More friendly than with me, I think. This is the second time he's been in big trouble and gone to Theo first."

"But you slept with him last night…"

"Slept. Yeah."

"Ah. I assumed you and he…"

"No. He said it was too soon."

"That implies there will be a time when it is not too soon. Greg, if you want him, you may have to make yourself take what he will give you. Don't push him too hard. You might push him away."

"Billy and me, we were always exclusive…"

"You're fooling yourself, Lestrade. You haven't been exclusive since you sent him packing from Scotland. Since you sent him away with Theo."

"I made a mistake."

"Yes. But it's done. You can't unmake it. You have to move on."

"I don't know how…"

"You do. You've been doing it. Theo has helped you. Perhaps I have, a little. Now you can help Billy to do it. To move on from Liam. Go on dates. Play music with him. Cook for him…"

"Don't fret when he'd rather spend the night just sleeping?"

"Yes. Or when he'd rather spend it alone."


	12. No Stairway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy chooses a guitar

 

 

Lestrade pops his head round the door of the glass booth. Blinks at the large notice on the back of it.

##  **NO STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN**

"What's that mean?"

Billy laughs.

"Everyone thinks they can play it. Usually they can't play it very well. The shop staff get sick of it."

"Right. Makes sense. How are you doing?"

"Can't decide. I've tried all sorts. Tried a couple of telecasters. A mustang. Kurt Cobain had one of those. Think I'll stick with the Strat, though. Just need to pick a colour. Red would remind me… what do you think?"

"That turquoise looks nice. Same as one of your sea glass colours…"

"Like Jeff Beck's. I haven't got any glass now, Greg. It all got lost or broken."

"I've still got mine. Couldn't bring myself to get rid of it."

He touches the glass chips on the thong around his neck. There are aqua, blue, grey and mauve chips there now, as well as the original red. His voice shakes a little.

"Play something on that?"

Billy nods. Plugs in the turquoise Stratocaster. Adjusts pedals. Does not play 'Stairway'.

 

Billy played: Joe Satriani: Surfing With The Alien: <http://youtu.be/e-OK7sS855M>  
Warning: if you don't like guitar solos, you probably won't like this.

 

Billy _didn't_ play: Led Zeppelin: Stairway To Heaven: <http://youtu.be/ovFSEHH_yJw>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have actually seen that notice in a glass booth in a guitar shop.


	13. "Is this a private surprise…?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ledtrade, Billy and Sherlock have lunch together.

The three men are in a Mexican restaurant, just around the corner from Tin Pan Alley, in Wardour Street. Lestrade has taken charge of ordering food, knowing that neither Sherlock nor Billy will make good choices. When the food arrives, it is very good. Steaks, sliced thin, with two different salsas. Side dishes of green rice and sweet potato chips. Sol beer. Sherlock discovers he likes sweet potato. Billy likes the green rice. 

Sherlock has carefully laid his violin case under the table, and keeps his feet pressed firmly against it at all times, in case it gets stolen. He has never had an electric instrument before, and surprised himself when he managed to play it to a passable, for him, standard in the shop. Theo Dimmock and Sally Donovan have bet him he will not join them on stage at a jam night. Sherlock is not one to turn down, or lose, a bet. But he will not risk his Stradivarius in a pub. 

After a lot of humming and hawing, Billy bought the turquoise Stratocaster, plus a practice amp and a selection of leads and pedals. He spent almost all of his first month's pay from UCL, and he doesn't care. Music is more important to him than food. Lestrade doesn't know what most of the pedals do. He likes a clean sound for his bass, although he does have a fuzz pedal that he uses occasionally. Billy has arranged for everything to be delivered to the SeaGlass in a couple of days. Lestrade is hopeful that this means he might stay with him in St John's Wood tonight. 

"Thanks for today, Greg. It's been great. I probably wouldn't have got round to buying a guitar for ages if you hadn't dragged me out. And I'd have been miserable."

"Glad you got sorted. And the day's not over yet. There's something else I've got in mind. You up for a surprise?"

Sherlock smirks.

"Is this a private surprise for two? Or could we make a threesome?"

Billy blushes.

"Don't be dirty, Shezz."

Lestrade grins. 

"Well, I had thought it would just be two, but I suppose it'll be all right if you tag along. Keep an eye on that monster violin, though. Don't want to lose it."

They finish their beers, Lestrade pays the bill, and they leave. 

"So where are we going, Greg?"

"Back to Denmark Street."


	14. Twelve Bar Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets electrified.

Lestrade leads the way back to Denmark Street, where they can hear the sound of punk music coming from what looks like a cafe. A sign above the shop front reads '12 Bar Club'.

Billy laughs. 

"'12 Bar'. As in twelve bar blues?"

"Yeah. It's not cool, but it's cheap, fun, and loud. And you get different genres."

They pay their entrance fees, five pounds each, and make their way downstairs . The venue is very small and the stage is tiny, but the beer is good and the music is loud.

They find a space at the back of the small crowd, and settle in for the evening. 

The punk band gives way to a folk-rock duo, which later gives way to a country band, the headliners for the night. Lestrade keeps an eye on how much they all drink, he doesn't want to be manoeuvring intoxicated men into taxis later. He loses sight of Sherlock for a few minutes. Spots him again speaking to the band when they take their mid-set break. 

"What's he up to?"

Billy shrugs

"Probably deduced something, and he's telling them about it."

Lestrade smiles. Nudges up, close to Billy. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah. This was a great idea, Greg. It feels a bit like a date, though. I hope you don't mind that Sherlock tagged along. He gets lonely, you know, I can tell. John probably can't give him as much time as he used to."

"Yeah. I forget he's human, sometimes. He puts up such a hard front."

"Hard, but brittle. I think he was hoping to spend time with you today."

"Well, he did…"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"I don't want to get in the way of your life…"

The music starts up again, drowning Lestrade's next words.

"What is he doing?"

Billy is incredulous. Sherlock is onstage with the band. The singer begins 

_"The Devil went down to Georgia. He was lookin' for a soul to steal._  
_He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind. He was willing to make a deal._  
_When he came across this young man sawin' on a fiddle and playin' it hot…"_

Sherlock settles his violin under his chin, lifts his bow and begins to play. He is electrifying. The violin shatters the stage lights like a glass prism. Sherlock dances as he plays, grinning like the devil himself. At the end of the song he takes a bow and jumps off the stage to whoops and cheers. 

Lestrade grabs him and reels him in, hugs him hard, kisses his ear. 

"That was fucking brilliant."

Sherlock laughs

"I had to do it. The violin is a Hades…"

Lestrade notices Billy watching them. Let's go of Sherlock. Pulls back. Sherlock doesn't notice. He is high on adrenaline. His phone buzzes. He feels the vibration, reads the text, smiles. Sends a reply.

"Drop me off at Baker Street on your way home?"

"Are you sure, Sherlock?"

"Yes. John's there."

 

Sherlock and the band played: Zac Brown Band: The Devil Went Down To Georgia: <http://youtu.be/0QVWQTDoMr4>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing this (2014), the 12 Bar was a real place. Sadly, the gentrification of Soho led to its closure in January 2015. It survives in the Billyverse, which is an AU, after all.


	15. "I know how to cuddle"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy needs time…

Billy sits on Lestrade's iron balcony, smoking and looking out into the night. It is cloudy, and a full moon appears and disappears as clouds scud across the sky. 

Lestrade steps up behind him, puts his hands on his shoulders. He wants to nuzzle his neck, but stops himself. 

"What are you thinking about?"

"Why did you wait so long before coming to talk to me? It was over a month after Theo told me you knew I was back."

"I was worried. Bit scared maybe. Didn't know whether you'd want to see me. Theo talked me into it in the end."

"Earlier on, in the club, before Sherlock got up on stage, you were going to ask me to come back to you, weren't you?"

Lestrade swallows, trying to find the right words. Fails.

"Please don't ask me to, Greg."

Lestrade feels his chest tighten, his throat thicken.

"Do you mean never, Billy? Haven't I got _any_ chance…?"

"I want us to be friends, Greg. I don't know how much more I want, just now. It's like you said, I don't know what I want from one minute to the next. I missed you, a lot. Last night, I would have…"

"It would have been a mistake. Like you said, it was too soon."

"If I hadn't been there tonight, if John hadn't texted, would you and Sherlock…?

Lestrade laughs, not happily.

"Sherlock doesn't want me for sex. Hasn't done for a long time. Sometimes he needs company, though. Just when he's buzzing after solving a case, usually. If he wants cuddling, if something's upset him, I might wake up and find him in bed with me. If he wants something more lively, dancing, clubbing, he'll go to Theo. He sees more of John than he does either of us."

"So you don't see Sherlock regularly? Outside of work, I mean."

"No. It can be weeks…"

"What about you and Theo?"

"We were together for a while. I moved in with him for a little while after you left, until I got my own place. After that, we sort of dated for a few months. We still jam at the pub sometimes. Still go dancing now and then. His boyfriend usually comes along as well, unless he's working. He's a fireman. Nice bloke. It's about time Theo settled down, I hope he'll be happy. Sometimes I don't even see him at work for a fortnight. He goes abroad a fair bit."

"I know you told me being on your own wasn't a problem, but do you get lonely, Greg?"

"Sometimes. A bit."

"You could come to me if you do. Just for company, if you like."

"Could I come to you anyway? Sometimes? Or you come to me?"

"Yeah. I'd like that, I think. Now and then."

"Okay. I'll try not to make too many demands."

"Don't be daft. It sounds like we're negotiating contracts. I love spending time with you. I always have. I just don't want to throw myself back into anything heavy just yet. "

"Will you stay here tonight, though?"

"Yeah. I might only want a cuddle, though."

"I know how to cuddle."

## end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. That really is it for this series.
> 
> If you want a little extra dose of Billy and Greg, there is a little standalone story, [La Serenissima](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2003376), which takes place between this series and the next. It isn't a bridge, exactly, but it establishes their relationship at the start of the next series.
> 
>  
> 
> See you on the other side, I hope.


End file.
